Fragments
by kramer53
Summary: A collection of one shots written by kramer53 and JubileeProductions telling stories of various Marvel characters. Genderbent Bucky goes to assassinate a certain SHIELD agent we know and love, Wanda turns against Tony Stark after AoU, Sam gets a pet falcon, Spider-Man meets his first Avenger, and much more!


**The adjoined brains of TheWildeFiles and kramer53.**

 **Genderbent Bucky because** _ **why the heck not.**_

 **Do hope you enjoy. It took us the better part of a day. - Wilde**

 **Disclaimer: Yup.**

 **...**

" _Longing…"_

For a future she would never have.

" _Rusted…"_

Too old for this world. A revolting stain.

" _Seventeen…"_

Applied for the Army of the US of A. Services accepted.

" _Daybreak…"_

Sleep is over, must march on and on in the bitter chill.

" _Furnace…"_

Too far to bathe her in its warmth.

" _Nine…"_

The cheerily screeching swings in that bark at the end of Baker's Street.

" _Benign…"_

Like Steve.

" _Homecoming…"_

Never got to. Not with the rest of the Howling Commandos, never with the 301st.

" _One…"_

The loss of a father she never knew.

" _Freight Car…"_

Falling down into the darkened abyss below.

…

The shadows of the Winter Soldier's past fled like mocking phantoms.

" _Good morning, Soldier. We have a mission… do you accept?"_

Hah. As if she had a choice. The woman who had once been Rebecca Jamie Barnes lifted her head from her chest, pale blue eyes hauntingly without the hatred the HYDRA commander expected to see. Sweat and melted ice mingled in rivulets down her sculpted and gaunt face, which was framed by a tangling cascade of brown, damp hair.

" _Ready to comply."_

…

It was cold, but snow did not fall, although the sky itself was gray. It was a nice house, by average standards, some voice noted this in the subconscious corner of her brain—a feminism that is flushed aside at every recital of the Key Words.

It was low and wide, with but one story. A winding gravel road spanned from the short driveway to the far-off highway, cutting through thick woods.

The Winter Soldier grimly set the tripod for her sniper. She had been scoping the residence for three days as of yet, and thus far no alarming movement had elicited her to action. Her organic finger rested against the trigger routinely once she fitted together the .30 cal sniper rifle.

And again, for the third day in a row, she waited. This would be the last day before the Winter Soldier decided it was requirable to breach the house and scope the interior. Hours passed, and in those hours she did not budge.

What was her opponent that he or she hides from her so deftly? She wasn't even given a name, just a level and a face. Her mechanical arm creaked uncomfortably as she shifted, it pained her in the cold when it went unattended. She would not let this distract her, however. She would complete this mission.

Because in the short time she would be free from that horrible freezer, the Winter Soldier had to welcome whatever sensations life bestowed. Whether it be pleasant or not so.

Another two hours passed. The wind died. The sky clouded over again, blocking the pale sun. The Winter Soldier let out a breath of aggravation and pulled her eye from the scope of her rifle, fitting on the black mask to conceal the bottom half of her near angelic face. Angelic. That's funny. That's what she was. An angel of death.

Dutifully, she began pulling her rifle apart, keeping some parts and discarding others into the black satchel that carried her supplies for the trip. She switched the rifle from spotshot to auto, and before setting out, she took a warm canteen from her satchel and took a long sip of the steaming contents. She was still human, if just barely.

Armed to the teeth and toes, the Winter Soldier pushed her way down the mountainside. The short trip ate away another hour of daylight, and though the sun was still high in the gray expanse, she felt the urge to hurry. To abandon caution to the wind and storm this damned house and just be done with it.

She jumped the fence. The dog she had shot dead days before was still lay where it died, crusty with dried blood. It had been a necessary death, as blood hounds would surely pick up her scent. The owner of the dog hadn't moved to gather his remains, like she had hoped. An ache of grudging respect rose in her black heart.

She checked the windows first. Every last one was nailed shut, not that that could ever hope to stop her. But the noise _would_ alarm the target inside. The Winter Soldier circled the house twice more before she made for the front door and crippled it in one swift piston-kick.

Her weapon aloft, her grasp on it firm, she stepped into the house. The living room was empty, the connecting closet vacant. She glanced a picture-portrait of a proud, all-smiles family. The woman, though weary-looking, wore a smile so bright and joyous that the Winter Soldier paused, and her gun lowered a fraction.

The mother's hands rested atop the hands of a little boy and girl, and her stomach swelled with a soon-to-be newcomer to the family. The man was dressed as a farmer, stout and firm, a bushy goatee set under keen, intense and so utterly calm eyes.

It was the Winter Soldier's job not to care. But for a mere instant, the woman was not the heartless, mindless killer, but the shadow of a woman who devoted her life to a service of mud and blood.

The Winter Soldier shook her head in an attempt to banish the oncoming headache, lowering her gun even further. A wall had recently been torn down to enlarge the living room, planks of wood that had once made the framework rested in a neat pile.

Half filled buckets of paint rested against the far wall, and four sets of blue handprints lined up side by side along the white wall, smallest to largest from left to right. Two of those prints belonged to children, too small to be made by anyone above the age of seven.

A large evergreen was set up in the opposite corner, baubles hanging precariously from its branches, and a star rested on the very top limb. Wrapped boxes sat beneath the tree and stockings hung along the fireplace, filled to the brim with goodies of all sorts.

Her boot knocked sent the pile of framework tumbling, and the assassin cursed her carelessness. Why was this place affecting her so?

"Daddy?"

She was still as a statue that leaned over the gravestones, and a flood of curses roiled through her mind. But now she knew for certain the home was inhabited, and the child's voice had come from below.

The voice was promptly and urgently hushed. By whom? The target? The Winter Soldier's mechanical hand went to the steel-shell detonator from the small of her back, creeping for a door she estimated led to the basement below, her rifle aimed upwards.

The gunshot was faint, as it was distant, and she had barely enough time to dodge before the bullet obliterated her rifle, resulting in a burst of shrapnel and sparks.

Good God! Even with her apt skill as a markswoman, not even the Winter Soldier was certain she could make such a shot, especially with a hunting rifle, which she identified as the assaulting weapon. Family forgotten, she rolled across the living room and behind a thick couch as two more shots splintered the floorboards. This guy was _good._ Not only had he evaded her scans over the last few days, but he had set the whole ordeal up so that _she_ would be the one at the other side of the barrel.

To test the sniper's attentiveness, the Winter Soldier reached out the hand of her silver arm, and it was imminently shot. Sparks flew, mental curses surfaced. A handgun was useless at this range; she might as well had been trying to harpoon a guppy. Her training overtook her primal urge to huddle in a ball and pray, however, and those cold, calculating eyes scanned the room and rested upon a high shelf above the fireplace and those stockings. _There._

Cupping her metal arm over her head, the Winter Soldier charged for the fireplace and reached up, her fingers closing around the haft of a buckshot, double-barreled rifle. She dove into the hallway and then into the kitchen.

The Winter Soldier found the ammunition for the gun in a shelf set high beside some matches, so to keep them from the reach of mischievous children. With efficient grace, she loaded the crude weapon and set the rest of the ammo in her utility pouch.

She stepped outside. A portion of the house still protected her from the sniper's view. But he could move. She had to act quick. Reaching a corner of the house, she peaked around, and she spied a rusting tank of gasoline resting next to a beat up tractor. Acting on skill, she rose her gun and shot the tank, sending a plume of fire and smoke billowing skyward, and granting her the cover she needed to cross over into the woods.

The Winter Soldier ran faster than humanly possible, crossing the open field and vanishing into the cover of the woods. Even there she wasn't entirely safe. This she realized as another powerful bullet splintered a slender tree, making it lean and dangle. If she hadn't been moving so fast, the WInter Soldier's head would have suffered the same fate.

She took cover behind a hill, and she knew if she waited, the shooter would have no choice but to advance on her position to ensure her elimination.

2…

3…

She counted the minutes down in her mind, and if she estimation was correct…

She charged over the hill, and spotted the sniper in the dead center of the overgrowth. She rose her gun and fired, but the sniper—the father—had already lunged for cover in the tall dead grass.

All was still.

The silence was absorptive, and the Winter Soldier realized that if she were to enter the field, she would alert her opponent immediately. She she used the last shot in the gun and fired for the sky. The field erupted in a cloud of fluttering and flapping wings as hundreds of birds took flight. As the noise overtook the silence, she entered the field of tall grass.

There he was; making for the rim of the overgrowth. Deftly reloading the gun, she raised it and fired. The man merely grunted as the shot slammed into his shoulder. She cocked the gun, watching on as the man struggled, crawling for something. A handgun he must have dropped when shot. Just as he reached it, swinging his arm around to fire, he was shot dead in the chest.

The Winter Soldier stood over the man, whose breath was now labored. He groaned, leaning his head to the side as he lay on his back. "Ohh.. hoho…" he chuckled wryly, "I _am_ getting old. Whaddya know?"

No answer came from the phantom of death, merely the setting of the gun's muzzle against his temple. But what he said next forze hre trigger finger.

"Do you… Do you even know why you're killing me?" He winced at the heat of the barrel, but his gaze never wavered from the woman's cold blue eyes.

They stayed that way for some time, and the man ventured further, treading on perilous waters. "Look at this…" he breathed, "Look at what they make you give."

Her hesitation was just enough for the man to act. He rolled back and kicked the gun away, and dove for her legs, twisting her knee and bringing her down to the ground. As he attempted to wrap a muscular arm around her neck and block her windpipe, he was thrown from her with a terrifying, superior strength. He shouted in surprise, momentarily airborne, but caught himself, executing a roll and sliding down the hill.

He was so fast! How could he move with those wounds… a bullet vest. Of course. This man must be a former agent of SHIELD.

She jumped down the hill, vaulting over the retreating man and landed before him, blocking his path. Before an instant's notice, she attempted a roundhouse kick meant to shatter the man's jaw, but without breaking his dash, he ducked under it and swept her other leg from under her.

She eeped. She actually _eeped_ as she face-planted into the ground. Before she could gather her bearings, a hiking boot struck her head, and all she knew for the next minute and a half was a sheer, ringing whiteness.

When she shook it away at last, the house was already burning.

They were gone.

…

It is never safe to leave the Winter Soldier without a routine brainwipe more than over a day. She went without such a brainwipe for over five days. When HYDRA finally tracked her down in Alberta, they did not find the Winter Soldier, but a vengeful Rebecca Barnes.

A dozen HYDRA soldiers died horrible, painful deaths that night. And when they finally reeled her in, bound in chains, she still fought with the manic possession of a demon.

"Damn you!" She screamed until the wiper lowered itself around her cranium, " _You killed Steve!"_


End file.
